


And then you walked into my life

by Yalys (MoiMoi)



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, High School, M/M, No Beta, TsuzuKazu Week, we die like tsuzuru's sleep pattern
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28832481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoiMoi/pseuds/Yalys
Summary: A single bandaid sparked a friendship, a friendship sparked something more.Written for TsuzuKazu week 2021 - Day 1 - the writer & the artist
Relationships: Minagi Tsuzuru/Miyoshi Kazunari
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	And then you walked into my life

1 - Tsuzuru

I was not involved in any clubs.    
Which is why, on the day of our school festival, I had the freedom to just roam around. My class - at least the students that weren’t busy with their club events - sold onigiri. I had done my share making them from early in the morning, so the rest of the day I was free and had planned to check out some stands myself. 

I walked past the art club’s exposition, and on a whim entered it. Or maybe not so much of a whim, because one painting caught my eye. I tried not to look like I went straight towards it, yet I definitely did. A flock of birds during sunrise, reflected in the sea…? No, a river. There was a bridge in the far background. It was somewhat surreal, but the colours were both bright and subdued. 

I looked at the title and artist.    
  
_ Early flight. _   
Kazunari Miyoshi, 3rd year

Ah.

No sooner had I read his name than the artist showed himself.

“Tsuzuroon! Admiring my work, I see?”

As always I felt a tinge of shame at the nickname, shrinking as he casually put his arm around my shoulder and stood next to me, looking at his own work with pride.

Granted, he should be proud. It was magnificent.

“Y-yeah, it’s really good.”

It took longer than usual before I tore my eyes away from him, and as it tends to happen in situations like this, he caught me staring. Damn it, me.

My cheeks heated up. “You seem happy,” I blurted out.

“Hehe,” Miyoshi let go of me and rubbed his nose. “I am happy. I got into the art college I wanted to go to.”

He gestured at the painting on display. “And this baby here helped me.”

I was glad he didn’t notice or comment on my blush, and I managed to just pull up a smile.

“Wow, congrats. Which college?” 

Did I know about art colleges? No. Was I genuinely happy for him? …yes. 

“Veludo Arts,” he replied, his bright smile still in place. 

“Nice.”

I knew Veludo as a theater-centric town, and that sparked my interest. Maybe I should check out Veludo Arts too. Would they have a writing department?

“Are you interested in art?”

The question surprised me. Miyoshis voice had changed, too. Like his personality, his voice stood out by its bouncy, bubbly character. Many highs, little lows. And this was low, serious, but without any expectations. 

“I appreciate it. But it’s not like I know much about it,” I answered carefully.

Green eyes looked at me a little too long, so I averted my own gaze, looked back at the painting. “This… eh… it’s a little like ukiyo-e, right?”

“Tsuzuroon…” 

Miyoshi got closer to me, then smiled brightly again and playfully punched my shoulder. He was always so touchy and clingy. I didn’t mind it, but it did a little too much to my heart.   
  
“He says he knows nothing but hits the nail on the head!”

“Oh.”   
  
Bubbly laughter.   
  
“It  _ is _ inspired by ukiyo-e. I really like Japanese style paintings. Their use of color was superb, even if the colors were limited. The blue gradients are my fave.”

I nodded. Somehow I had set off Miyoshi’s art ramblings, but I really didn’t hate it. At all. I thought, maybe he just needed this. To talk about what he likes. None of the friends he hung out with were in the art club, and he did not hang with people who were.

After that, Miyoshi would often pull me out of class before I went home, dragged me (I kid, I went out of free will) to the art club atelier and showed me his works. I didn’t think I had anything interesting to say about them, but he would listen to whatever I did say. Whether or not my impressions made sense, they always lighted up his face, and seeing him smile made me feel warm.    
  
I knew nothing about art, but Miyoshi said I was inspiring, and for the first time in years, I wanted to write someone a story.

(No, it is you, who inspired me.)

  
  


2- Kazunari

Reflection.

In many ways, art is reflection. A reflection of real life, but never real. It’s not supposed to be a photograph. It’s not supposed to be real. Ah, but then… even photographs aren’t real anymore.

Such deep thoughts as I upload a selfie, who would even think about that when snapping a pic of a new smoothie creation. I, for one. Sometimes.

The _ likes _ began to pour in moments after, and I put my phone away.

I had my sketchbook with me in a tote, my tools, my little foldable chair. Smoothie in hand, I made my way to a local park - it had a huge central tree that I had been wanting to sketch. Actually, it was Tsuzuroon who told me about it. The most symmetrical tree he’d ever seen. I don’t remember how we got to that strangely specific topic, but I was intrigued.

I found the park and took a seat at a good distance from the tree. Remove the high-rise apartments from the background. Some birds flying in and out. Sun would set about - there. I still had time. 

There were kids playing around, shouting, laughing, crying. It didn’t bother me at all. I was focused on my drawing, adding details and surroundings. Colors, but only hints of what the finished work would look like. I was quite satisfied, looking at what I had put on paper.

“Oh, Tsuzuru, there you are.”

Surprised, I looked up. A woman got up from a bench, pushing a stroller along. Tsuzuru hurried over to her, seemed to apologize. He was wearing a polo shirt with the logo of a family restaurant and wiped his brow. Right, Tsuzuroon worked part-time, and it was a Saturday.

The lady must be his mom, then. She called out towards the playground.

“Kids! Mommy is going to get groceries now, Tsuzuru will take you home. Listen to him, okay?”

A number of replies rose from the playground, and I did vaguely recall Tsuzuru mentioning that he had a large family, but this was a little more confrontational. 

Tsuzuru had not noticed me there, probably focused on his siblings, watching over them. I couldn’t help but feel some tired sadness in the way he stood, his back mostly towards me, looking away from the playground briefly to watch a crow fly down from the tree and settle on the backrest of the bench his mom had been sitting on. 

My hand moved fast, capturing the scene. The sketch was extremely basic, and I flipped to a new page where I etched his features on the paper. I imagined those eyes reflecting the light of the setting sun, the warmth, the fire. The contrast between orange and green. 

A shiver ran down my spine when I was done, and closed my sketchbook. 

“Takeru, come on, time to go home!”

Tsuzuru’s voice only showed a hint of impatience. An older kid already stood next to him, seemingly eager to go back. A second one joined, patting sand off his shorts.

“Dun wanna!”

“Takeru come on,” the older kid complained, “I wanna go back.”

“I dun wanna walk home!”

I packed my stuff while Tsuzuru struggled to get his little brothers together.   
  
“I’ll give you a piggyback ride, okay? Now come over here and wear your shoes.”

Finally the last kid hobbled over to the rest. I got my things and considered whether or not I should say hi to Tsuzuru, but I could hardly pass them unnoticed, so I decided I should just deal with it, knowing full well I had just sketched him in close up. 

Before I said anything, Tsuzuru saw me and his expression lighted up. It made me strangely soft.

“Hi,” I said. Simple. So, so basic.

“Miyoshi-san, hey.”    
  
His brain obviously worked faster than mine. 

“Did you come to sketch the tree?”

He should be an artist, with those observation skills of his. I nodded.

“It’s as symmetrical as you said. I’ll show you the sketch at school.”

His brothers were bickering a bit behind him, but he let them, even if the youngest one kept pulling his arm, asking to be picked up. 

He glanced at the tree. He must really like it, for some reason.

“I’d love to see it.” 

His gaze away from me allowed me to stare as my heart practically burst. I had never been more thankful for a tree to exist than right there at that time. I swallowed. He was about to return his attention to something else. Say something. Say it.

“Yeah.”

He then nodded to me, unaware of how the world spun 360 degrees around me. He squatted and let his little brother climb on his back.

“Ataru, you hold on to Tooru’s hand, okay? Let’s go.”

Tsuzuru then gave me an apologetic smile. “See you at school, Miyoshi-san.”

My hands clutched my tote bag tight. I almost gasped for air after he left, and I was filled with the need to get the image I had in my head on paper. I dashed out of the park, home, and started painting.

3- Tsuzuru + Kazunari

Graduation.

Kazunari rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t have a good night, even if it wasn’t graduation itself that plagued him. It was the painting he had wrapped in brown paper, sitting in his bag lest he forget… 

The graduation ceremony struck him as way too grand for what was going on. It’s just high school graduation. Most kids would go on to university or specialized studies. They’re only 18, not even fully adults, and Kazunari felt that even if he decided what to study, he has no idea what he’ll do the rest of his life. 

He sighed. He tried to listen to the speech, but his mind drifted off pretty soon. The painting he made right after meeting Tsuzuru that day at the small park had been standing in his room, facing the wall. Sometimes he’d take it and look at it. A boy’s profile, more a silhouette than a face, but the eyes were detailed. Blue-green hues, and the reflection of the evening sky. Fiery orange, some pink.    
  
Kazunari did a good job, he thought. Even if he wasn’t sure any guy would like to get a painting of himself. Maybe he’d just make Tsuzuru awkward. Maybe this was all a terrible idea. But Kazunari had to do something, to thank him, at least. Maybe...to express his feelings.

He would graduate. 

\--

It’s not the end of the world, Tsuzuru told himself. No matter the result, it’s not the end of the world.    
  
Although it looked clumsy, like a middle school newsletter from the journalism club, it’s something that he crafted himself. More importantly, the story it told was personal. Surely, it was fiction, even set in a science fiction world, but the parallels would be obvious enough. Too obvious?    
  
Tsuzuru shook his head. Stop. Thinking.   
  
This was the least he could do. Before Miyoshi graduated, he could at least thank him for giving him the inspiration he lacked for so long - years where he tried and failed to write. For giving him a peek into Miyoshi’s heart through the art he made. For everything that Kazunari unwittingly had done for him.   


Even though it was graduation day for the third-years, for Tsuzuru it was just time to clear out his desk and locker, and for the class to give their classroom a thorough scrubbing and cleaning session. His little storybook waited in his bag, tied with a green ribbon. The exact same green as Miyoshi’s eyes.

Was that too much?    
  
Tsuzuru leaned on the mop he was supposed to be cleaning with and stared out of the window. White clouds drifted by, leisurely as always. Why did his heart beat so fast?

\--

Finally, the graduation ceremony was over and life returned to the students as they got up and scurried outside. There were people who exchanged letters and gifts, and Kazunari got dragged into his friend group who took out some snacks and cans of juice. He laughed with them, shared stories of their three years at high school.    
  
However while sipping peach juice, he carefully looked around. The bell had rung, school was over… He’d see Tsuzuru’s brown spiky mop between the kids pouring out of the school gate soon.

\--

Tsuzuru heard the bell. The commotion that followed when students got their stuff and hurried out. The excitement palpable in the air, their voices louder than usual. He hadn’t finished throwing away the dirty water yet after mopping the floor, so he couldn’t follow the rest of his classmates as they gave him an apologetic look before leaving the classroom.

He grabbed the bucket and exited the room, hurrying in the opposite direction of the other students, suddenly worried that his senpai would also leave school as fast as possible, and he’d miss the chance to talk to him. He poured the water away and almost ran back, stored the mop and bucket and grabbed his stuff. 

Once outside, Tsuzuru looked around, walking past groups of third-years saying goodbye, some of them crying, most of them laughing.    
  
He spotted Miyoshi and stopped. The blonde was surrounded by his friends, laughing and seeming to have fun. Was it okay for him to interrupt? Should he?   
  
Tsuzuru gulped.    
  
Suddenly, Miyoshi glanced in his direction, and his face lighted up. He said something to his friends and then came towards Tsuzuru.

“Tsuzuroon!”   
  
“M-Miyoshi-san… uhm, congratulations.”

  
“Hehe~ thanks. You gonna miss me?”

  
Tsuzuru flushed a little.  _ Too direct, Miyoshi-san. _   
  
“I- yeah, I think so,” Tsuzuru replied softly. There were too many people around for this kind of talk, at least for him. Miyoshi didn’t seem to mind.

“Me too, you know? Hit me up if you wanna chat and hey, maybe you end up at a nearby uni.”

Miyoshi rattled at usual. But possibly - probably - for the last time.   
  
Tsuzuru bit his lip and nodded. Suddenly giving his self-indulgent story sounded like a ridiculous idea. How did he ever think Miyoshi would be pleased with it? How did he believe it wasn’t all kinds of awkward?

“Miyoshi!” His friends called out to him. “Are you coming to karaoke or nah?”   
  
Miyoshi turned. “I’ll go, just gimme a sec!”

Tsuzuru felt his smile falter.    
  
“Sorry about that,” Miyoshi said next, grinning a bit.   
  
Tsuzuru shook his head. “It’s okay. You should go, Miyoshi-san. Thanks for the- time. Talking to me, and all.”  
  
The younger student tightened the grip on his bag. Of course, he was just being silly. Thinking there was something more.    
  
“Ah, yeah, thank you too Tsuzuroon, for letting me drag you to the art class. And for the- commentary. Haha.”   
  
“No problem… Uhm… I should go. See you. Good luck.”   
  
Tsuzuru pulled up a grin, then turned away.   
  
“Wait, Tsuzuroon, I have-”   
  
“Mi~yo~shi~!”

  
  
\--

Kazunari felt his stomach drop. What if he was only an annoying senpai to Tsuzuru? The younger boy sure made comments along those lines at times, but Kazunari had thought he was just joking. 

_ Of course _ he’d been annoying. Dragging Tsuzuru off without asking, just talking to him regularly because of a silly incident. Surely Tsuzuru had no interest in him, even if he put up with him.   
  
“I’m a dumbass huh?”    
  
Mumbling to himself, he returned to his friends, put his smile back on and joined them for karaoke. But Kazunari didn’t sing a single song that night.

  
  


4- Reunited, an afterword

Two years later, under a sunny early spring sky, beneath the cherry blossoms, Kazunari’s laughter rings clear as bells in Tsuzuru’s ears.

“I do remember that!” the blonde says.   
  
“I totally chickened out,” Tsuzuru admits. “I had written a story for you and printed it out but I couldn’t give it after all.”   
  
“And I had a painting. Of your face, kind of. Super embarrassing huh.”

“But I’d like to see it. Do you still have it?”   
  
Kazunari hums, as if he’s thinking. The answer is yes, he still has it. Still wrapped in brown paper.   
  
“If I can read your story,” he replies. “I bet you still have it.”   
  
Tsuzuru grumbles. That’s as good as a ‘yes’.    
  
“Don’t judge me okay?”   
  
“Psh. I’d never.”   
  
“Mmh, sure you don’t.”    
  
Kazu’s hand finds Tsuzuru’s cheek and pulls him closer. Their lips meet while the gentle spring breeze plays with their hair. Tsuzuru is still a writer. Kazunari is still an artist. The only difference is that they’ve let each other into their hearts and lives a second time.   
  
This time for real.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 Soft tsuzukazu! I'm sorry I suck at any kind of layouting for stories.


End file.
